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^l^ougl^ts at (£vcniibc 



—by. 



^annie 3- (5reenau)alt 



Hamaker Printing Company 

flint. michigan 

1908 



LItirilARV orO«N»:--iC-i;S 
!W0 Uopies. nuKaii.,. 

I APR 6 id'M 



Copyright. 1908, 



Fannie J. Greenawalt. 



Co m^ mot^^v 



W\\o \\as passcb ooer into 
tl]C beautiful beyonJ) this 
book is loringly bcbicatcb. 



Ci storm of rtantasRct. 



As I my night watch kept; 
Long, long ago, while others slept — 
Quickly a rain storm swept 
In torrents down ! 

How the red lightning flashed — 
How the loud thunder crashed — 
And the wild raindrops dashed — 
Over the town ! 

But with the break of day; 
Drifted the clouds away. 
And the sun's bright ray 
Lay all around 1 

The rollers, however, were coming in vigorously, one after another 
they arrived fresh from the heart of the Atlantic and fell in successive 
peals of thunder on the shore, retiring when spent and exhausted with a 
long drawn moan like travel worn giants. As they reared their crests 
before they spilled them on the beach, they looked like walls of green 
cr^'stal, and when they poured their fury on the sand the foaming 
wavelets ran hither and thither desperately, until the feet of the spec- 
tators were suddenly caressed by their drifting lacework. 

The rollers came on in serried files, like an army moving to the 
assault. As far seaward as the eye could reach, one could perceive the 
watery host, mustering its impatient rank and ranging them for the 
tremendous attack of Nantasket's perpetual siege. 

Far out amid the rallying breakers stood the end of the iron pier, 
like a fortress begirt with tireless enemies. High above the tossing and 
the tumbling of the sea, hundreds of eager and enthusiastic spectators 
looked down upon the unceasing strife. There were other human figures 
dotting the changeful waste of shoal water — figures that were as posts 
amid the splash of the waves and the green and crystalline confusion of 
the sea. 

Perhaps five hundred bathers in all braved the onset of the rollers, 
and as they staggered and plunged and often enough fell under the 
boisterous assault, shrill shrieks of laughter rang out above the din and 
rythmical clamor of the billows. I looked upon the scene and thought, 
how bright and beautiful, but will it last ? No, the storms of life will 
come ! Are we prepared to meet them ? 



forgotten. 



On the soft velvet cushions of a "North Pacific" car; 
Lay a dainty smiling cherub— I wonder who you are ?- 
f3arbed in finest laces with eyes of heavenly blue, 
An ermine cloak about her and but one little shoe. 
Forgotten . 

A woman reclines on the beach today 
Where the waves of the great Atlantic play, 
Her husband is, she knows not where. 
And furthermore she does not care. 
Forgotten . 

The bells are tolling soft and slow; 
The mourners weeping as they go — 
To lay this broken heart away 
At rest, forever and ever and aye: 
Forgotten. 

A burst of glory from the sky — 
With paeans rolling far and high, 
"Come to me, my own dear child !'' 
The Father looked down and sweetly smiled — 
Remembered . 



f^ust?. 



Hush ! the white snow is drifting over 

one who is sleeping; 
Our beloved child has received a blest greeting. 

Chorus. 
"Stars of the morning sing together and 

rejoice;" 
She is freed from Earth's fetters, in 

Heaven hear her voice. 

Hush ! see the fragrant spring blossoms 

drift over her rest; 
She has gone home, God knoweth it best. 

Chorus. 

Hush ! sweet summer sunlight, bird warblings 

drift over her now — 
To the call of her Maker we bow. 

Chorus. 

Hush ! the autumn leaves are drifting 

over her so fair; 
Listen — to the music of angel voices rare. 

Chorus. 
Stars of the morning, sing together 

and rejoice — 
She is freed from Earth's fetters, in Heaven 

hear her voice. 



Cl^nstmas Cl^ougl^ts. 



Another twelve months passed and gone- 
Like the echo of a song; 
Borne to us adown the years, 
Freighted with both smiles and tears 
On the way. 

A holy calm pervades the air; 
With Christmas beauty here and there, 
Wreathes of holly in the hall: 
Trees and flowers at market stall, 
But these decay. 

Have we truly loved our neighbor ? 
Have we really tried to labor 
As God hath taught us to ? 
For prayer and watchfulness will do 
Wonderful things today. 

Our Father's love is over all; 
Even though the hours may pall. 
For every day precedes the night, 
And hearts are never always light, 
Bright and gay. 

We shall be a glorious band. 
When we reach the heavenly land 
Where all is peace and love. 
That we gain this home above — 
Let us pray. 



Co an €xotic. 



Magnificent exotic ! Why the clime 

Of glowing sunshine and perennial bloom, 

Of fervid airs and changeless summer time, 

Hast thou resigned ? Why hither hast thou come. 

To these gray skies, cold blasts and sullen gloom ? 

This wintry land befits not such a guest; 

Amid these dreary scenes is not thy home, 

When all is leafless, thou alone art dressed, 

Child of the torrid sun ! in summer's gorgeous vest. 

Luxuriant wanderer ! with tremulous thrills. 
Thy velvet leaves are quivering in the blast; 
Thy fragrance full-breathed and exuberant fills 
The insensate wind that rushes rudely past, 
Like christian charity on scoffers cast; 
The sun gleams coldly through the falling sleet. 
With frozen rain the trees are fettered fast, 
And thou wilt wither in this cold retreat, 
Or yield a sickly bloom amid factition'sheat. 

Far o'er the waters was thy native land, 
Where Cuba's isle sleeps on the southern sea; 
Where morn and even with dehghted hand 
Hang heaven's arch with gorgeous tapestry; 
Spices and fruits companioned there with thee. 
And birds of glittering plumage revelled near. 
Caressing zephyrs held a dalliance free, 
And wooed thy sweets when with coquettish air. 
Thy tufted head was tossed above the gay parterre. 

Upon some hillock's sloping was thy birth. 

Which like an oriental maiden sleeping 

Among rich draperies, lay on the earth 

Embowered in groves, the zephyrs gently sweeping 

Like many voices low-toned council keeping, 

The sun waved ocean to the swelling shore 

In eloquent voluptuousness creeping 

A pleasing torpor to the senses bore. 

Which one would fain enjoy, and never wake from more. 



J 



(To an €xottc— Continueb, 



Upon the summit of the slope I see 

A vine-dad mansion, with verandahs crowned 

And morn and night to watch and cherish thee 

Issues a maiden with elastic bound; 

Her lustrous eyes absorb the beauties round 

As flowers the air; or in the sultry day 

A group reclining on the grassy mound 

Take their siesta 'neath the shaded ray, 

Or with romance and song, the hours they while away. 

When evening's starry scroll upon the sky 
Like some old blazoned manuscript unrolled, 
Then to the lucid moon and night wind's sigh 
Thou gav'st thy sweetest fragrance, from the bold 
And garish day withholden. So 'tis told 
Caldean Sages did from Babel's height 
Their solemn mysteries to the stars unfold. 
With them their musings took sublimest flight 
For meditation deep e'er loves the sable night. 

Here will 1 sit, Exotic ! and inhale 

The viewless incense of thy fragrant flower, 

Upon thy foliage reading many a tale 

Of love and hate and frantic passion's power. 

Inspired, matured, accomplished in an hour; 

Or with bright memories thy lone beauty blending 

With Psyche, wandering where tempests lower. 

With heaven-born Genius to the earth descending — 

And dream glad summer back, while thus before thee bending. 



IJuIetibc. 



Christmas bells are in the air, 
Christmas cheer is everywhere — 
But your fate and mine I know, 
Like the flowers and the snow. 
We pass away. 

In the music of the bells 
Sweetly, grandly as it swells, 
Comes to us "across the snow," 
Takes us back to long ago, 
A lost day. 

When beyond the stars we meet. 
And each other softly greet, 
All our heartaches and our losses, 
All our burdens and our crosses 
Will pass away. 



Ct piece of 3reab. 



A man, this morning, stood at my back door, 

And asked for a piece of bread to eat; 
His poor feet almost bare upon the floor, 

While his nose and chin were about to meet. 
Two of our great men give only for name. 

But Christ, who is greater, said remember the poor, 
And again in His word, forget not the same, 

Lo, I will be with you forevermore. 

How much did our ladies spend for inaugural gowns ? 

Thousands of dollars. That would buy much bread; 
All over the world, in many large towns — 

I hear the pitiful cries: "May we not be fed ?" 
Chicago's little ones, with bare feet in the snow. 

The aged fathers and mothers, homeless and bent; 
What a vast army, and on, on they go. 

With almost nothing to eat and never a cent. 

Dear Lord ! soften our hearts that we may give 

A\ore unto Thy poor, and then we shall live. 
As Thou hast commanded, "Inasmuch as ye did" — 
Must we forget those beautiful words ? May heaven forbid. 



Hebbirb to (5oIt)en=fjair. 



i see you there, my pretty dear; but 

don't disturb my eggs; 
Yes, you may look, if you'll be good, 

for this a mother begs. 
The blessed Lord made you and me, 
He cares for us the sam.e; 
And we must never, never do aught, 

to cause Him grief or pain. 
Now hear my roundelay. 
Tweet, tweet, hey day. May day. 

Come, my own little Golden-hair, and 

we'll to the woods away; 
Wait till tomorrow: oh, no, no, for 

now it is balmy May. 
Down by the brook we'll wait a while, 

and then afar will go. 
Up, up to meet the sun and back 

to the world below. 
Now hear my roundelay. 
Tweet, tweet, hey day, May day. 

! You can't fly; did you ever try ? 
it's easy enough for me; 

1 dip and skim, by the river's brim. 
Then float away, you see. 

Now hear my roundelay. 

Tweet, tweet, good day, good day. 



Cl:?erncs. 



How are the fine old cherry trees ? 

Where in sweet June weather, 

We sat visiting under the boughs — 

All of us together. 

The picture is fresh today; 

Our feet in the green grass resting, 
And the ripe red cherries lying there 

Close to the brown earth trysting. 

'Twas a delightful happy time, 

In the blossom scented weather- 
Skies were blue and we were true. 
All of us together. 

We remember the quiet home, 

And the wild bird's merry trill; 
The golden wheat fields in the sun 
Over on yonde^^ hill. 

We think of the old low rooms, 
And many that were there; 

God bless and keep them every one 
Free from sin and care 1 

Our love to the fine old cherry trees; 

Where in sweet June weather 
We sat visiting under the boughs — 
All of us together. 



Unber tl^e Silent Stars. 



Under the silent stars we met, 
By the side of the moonlit sea, 

She with her wind-tossed golden curls, 
And her name it was Nita Rhee. 

Her eyes shone like the stars above. 
With passion and wild unrest. 

Her lips were red as the carnation rose 
That trembled against her breast. 

She stood looking out o'er the waters dark, 
The waves kissed her dimpled feet, 

She lifted her robe from the incoming tide. 
Her ankle — ah — me, how sweet. 

Said I, dainty maid, think me not over-bold, 
1 am curious, that much I confess. 

Are you angel, or mortal ? by Jove ! 
1 am drunk or dreaming, 1 guess. 

The musical tide, the glimmering stars, 
The long stretch of sand on the beach, 

The glorious night blue-vaulted above, 
And the girl that I dare not reach. 

Just then was the time to go, 1 ween. 
You think so ? Oh well, that may be, 

But then, I am glad that 1 did not. 
For — for — we are married, you see. 



Destiny. 



A sweet bright smile and dimples three; 

Eyes that invite — 
What is to be, will be. 

A walk at sunset, you and me; 

A stolen kiss — 
What is to be, will be. 

A talk with pa, and ring you see; 

"So it goes" — 
What is to be, will be. 

The Reverend next, a trip at sea; 

My bonny bride — 
What is to be, will be. 

A cherub fair with dimples three; 
Eyes like papa's— (oh well) 
What is to be, will be. 



a Cullabij Song. 



Lullaby, baby! 
In the east there is light, 

All night have I held thee close to my heart: 
The sun now is rising, like a king in his might. 

Pictured and painted by art. 

Lullaby, baby! 
Blows the wind from the mountain, 

Dreamily rocking my dear one to sleep. 
And he sings and he breathes through yon dripping fountain, 

Old wind you are fickle and fleet. 

Lullaby, baby! 
The doves now are cooing 

And billing in meadows where clover is sweet; 
And the kine far away are lowing and mooing. 

The milkmaid to meet. 

Lullaby, baby! 
The birds they are calling 

Good morning! good morning! on every breeze. 
And a bright golden star in the east is falling 

Till lost in the depth of the trees. 

Lullaby, baby! 
Close your blue eyes and sleep; 

The dreamboat is waiting, embark while you may; 
You have nothing to lose and nothing to keep, 
And nothing whatever to pay. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 



^Dcning. 



How calm the stream as it nears the tide; 
How sweet the flowers at eventide, 
Bird songs more mellow at close of day; 
Loved ones divine when they pass away. 

Morning Is brilliant, but holier far 
Is evening whose robe is pinned with a star, 
And man aweary must love her best; 
jWorning means toil, but twilight rest. 

She was born in heaven, is wondrous fair; 
A breath of Eden on the wings of prayer — 
Angels' footsteps follow her apace * * * 
To close the tired eyes of day in peace. 

Hushed are all things, as she throws 
O'er hearts and homes her mantle of repose; 
There is silent beauty, grace and power 
In evening, known not in the morning hour. 

From early dawn till sunset we must toil; 
Turn life's hard furrow, plow the weedy soil- 
Tread with aching feet o'er moss and stone. 
Amid the multitude, yet quite alone. 

Dear Christ above, hear Thou our plea ! 
When sunset comes to us, may we — 
Leave behind as we pass away * * 
Beautiful twilight round our sleeping clay. 



0nly tl^e fjtrcb (5trL 



"Only the hired girl 1" exclaimed Vivien May, as a distinguished 
looking, well-bred young lady entered the room with a letter for Miss 
May. 

This expression was called forth by a look of inquiry from Ralph 
Whitney, who was calling upon Miss May, and conversing with her 
in regard to the letter which was expected; it proved to be an invita- 
tion to a musical recital at "Sleeper Hall." 

"Who is the hired girl ?" asked Mr. Whitney, "she is certainly 
very beautiful; a kind of beauty one seldom meets, it is goodness, or, 
soul beauty, that shines from her eyes." 

Imprudent young man ! to speak thus to the pampered, hand- 
some idol of a proud family, forgetting that she also was a woman; 
but Ralph Whitney, although he was the son of a millionaire, had not 
been spoiled by adulation; he was kind hearted and free from jeal- 
ousy; therefore he knew not the quicksands so dangerously near. 

"She is Miss Ruth Field" said Vivien coldly, "and will only be here 
temporarily." 

"A relative?" inquired Mr. Whitney — 

"No! the daughter of an acquaintance: she is well educated, 
however, which is fortunate for her, as she is poor. I believe she 
has engaged to teach at the Normal." 

"Is she entirely without means ?" asked Ralph. 

"Yes ! I think so; she has an invalid mother and a little sister to 
support; her father is dead, killed in a railroad disaster or something 
of the kind." 

Ralph Whitney would have liked to know more about Miss Field, 
but Vivien's replies were so brief, and she seemed rather annoyed; 
so he concluded the subject was not agreeable to her and dropped it. 

Not long after this conversation Vivien said to her mother, "I 
wish you would not keep Ruth longer; 1 do not like her, and one 
thing I shall insist upon; while with us she must not be asked to 
sing !" 

A few days later Vivien gave a whist party, and the under- 
standing with her mother was that Ruth should be kept in the back- 
ground. 

LOfC 



(Dniy tl^c f)ireb (5irl. 



CONTINUED. 



The evening designated for the party arrived; and with it about 
fifty guests assembled at the palatial home of the May's. 

There was one in this brilliant company who was as much out 
of place as a lily would be in some gay parterre surrounded by 
poppies; her lady-like manner, perfect simplicity, the face lighted by 
clear, dark eyes, within whose depths one could see great possibilities. 
("Vultus est index animi,") 

She was merely "the hired girl." 

When the card playing and feasting were over, someone sug- 
gested music, and after a few preliminaries, Vivien seated herself at 
the grand piano and rendered a "Nocturne," from Chopin, after 
which Miss Field was asked to sing by an intimate friend of the 
family; it was impossible to refuse such a request, and she was al- 
lowed to comply. 

The song was very sweet, Gounod's delicious "Fruhlingslied," 
(Spring song) and as the singer went on, it seemed to Mr. Whitney, 
who was one of the listeners, that it was May with bird songs and 
blossoms, in lieu of December. When the song was ended, Ralph led 
her to a secluded nook in the conservatory and conversed with her 
on different subjects. 

Ruth had never been tete-a-tete with such a high-bred man, 
who treated her with so much deference and courtesy as if she had 
been the daughter of an ambassador, or, possibly a queen; and who 
listened with interest to all she said; Ruth enjoyed talking with him 
exceedingly, for she had known few pleasures since the death of her 
father. 

The next afternoon Vivien May attended the recital to which she 
had been invited, with a number of her friends, Ralph being one of 
them. While taking a survey of the audience, who should they see 
in front of them but Ruth Field and another young lady. 

As the recital continued Mr. Whitney discovered that none of 
his, or rather. Miss May's party, could appreciate with such keen 
delight, the wonderful selections rendered, as would naturally be ex- 
pected. 



0nly t\}i ^ircb (5irl, 



CONTINUED. 



Ruth's face was a study, she seemed a part of Beethoven's ex- 
quisite, immortal, "seventh symphony,'' and her rapture could 
scarcely be controlled while each note of Mendelsohn's beautiful 
"Capriccio Brilliant," and the heavenly "Kreuzer Sonata," filled 
the hall with rare, subtle sweetness; one could easily imagine the 
angel's pausing to listen. 

After the recital Vivien's jealousy and indignation knew no 
bounds; she even forgot common good breeding, and said to Miss 
Field— 

"How dare you receive the attention of one whom you have known 
so short a time ? You must not remain here 1 1 wish you to leave 
this house immediately! why ! it is simply dreadful !" 

So, almost before Ruth could realize it she was upon the street. 

Her heart was crushed, though she tried to be brave, but the 
tears would come. 

She was walking, she knew not where; neither did she caret it 
did not matter; God had forsaken her. Suddenly, a quick step be- 
hind her and Ralph's familiar voice exclaimed: 

"Really, Miss Field, I supposed you were home long ago. 
Pardon me ! where are you going ?" and she replied bursting into 
tears: 

"1 do not know. I cannot go to my mother and little sister; they 
have sorrow enough." 

By tact and persistent effort, he got the whole story at last. 

And when the chime of bells at old Trinity rang out the mid- 
night hour, he clasped her to his heart and called her by the holy 
name of wife. 

He had married "the hired girl" and in that way manifested his 
good, practical common sense. 



0ur ixvzs, Cike tl^e ^lorucrs, ^ab^ Ctipay. 

COMPOSED FOR AND READ AT A DINNER GIVEN AT THE "HOTEL 

DRESDEN," FLINT, MICH., SEPTEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH, 

NINETEEN HUNDRED AND SEVEN 

Come ! let us go straying today. Down in the quiet, beautiful 
woodland and while passing, we will note the different points of in- 
terest. Here we are under this giant oak, whose arms flung wide 
and protectingly, form a shelter from the heat and storm, surely that 
is a blessing. Yonder, is a broad flat rock; let us sit down and rest 
and while loosening the sandals from our tired feet, we will remember, 
(if we can,) how many miles those feet have traveled, amid the ups 
and downs of life. The rock is a blessing also. Now, we come to 
this sparkling, rippling rivulet; dip the cup in its lucid waters and 
while we quench our thirst. Listen ! hear it laugh and sing on its 
way to the sea. The brook is a blessing too. At last, we have 
reached the woodland, with its murmuring, whispering pines. How 
deep and dark ! How cool and refreshing 1 Throw yourselves upon 
the needles; are they not soft and fragrant ? Now, we will sleep 
and dream, — and — dream, that we are once more children, in our 
childhood homes; perhaps, at a mother's knee, being taught that 
story so often told, of Jesus and His wonderful love. What a sacred 
calm pervades the old home ! How beautiful the twilight hour and 
the bird songs, Hush ! a nightingale is singing, how he trills and 
warbles his good night aria, ere he seeks his downy couch and tucks 
his head under his wing, to sleep — perchance to dream. The forest 
is a blessing. We have many things for which to be thankful, 
blessings that we are apt to overlook; but, dear ladies, let us go 
softly and slow, for our lives like the flowers fade away and we may 
soon sleep that long sleep, which knows no waking; God grant us 
perfect rest — and peace. 



APR 6 1908 



